Weeds Salad and Milky Tagliatelle

Food is emotional because thoughts are on what could be good. Good is also inspired by teachers. Who invented nature's diverse flavors? In the wild is a delicious guessing game, as edible as they can be books. So I read and listened and cooked. And this is how to prepare the weeds salad (as weeds signify the savour:aromatics of the dressing oil in its standing marinade): ●water has already been removed from the fresh mozzarella ball and in the container was added extra virgin olive oil, cracked black pepper corns, one leaf of rosemary herb, lemon twists coils, and a good pinch of rock salt around, then set aside ●as the salted boiling water in the pasta pot is simmering gently, drop the tender stems (with leaves) picked at the heart of the celery stalk, the dandelion weeds, the wild nasturtiums weeds and dark shoots of the chili pepper plant and blanch them for a minute in the water and quickly harvest out, then set aside to cool ●cut the chilled plum tomatoes crosswise in coins, then rough chop the diverse-flavored weeds minced like chimichurri and toss together, then fold in the dressing marinade from the mozza into the weeds salad and slice up the ball like the tomatoes and mix them well, then serve in a black shallow bowl ●and that is your weed salad! Weeds, according the wild food experts, have a particular bitter taste but when balanced with particularly neutral-tasting plants of the mountain, will nuance and complex your salad flavor making it toothsome and savory with brine and citrus freshness. The fresh pasta was cooked in celery and rosemary water milk of ricotta, and when al dente scooped out and plated immediately and sprayed with black pepper crackles, then anointed with olive oil generous enough it hides under the pasta reserved for mopping later, with bread and the juice of the salad, milky, peppery, salty tang, bittersweet, all weeds together for contentment.

“Going for a forage with Dirce was keeping an eye needled on opportunity; it was bearing in mind the specific needs of calf, hens, rabbits, the kitchen cauldron and her son Alfonso, who came back from Carrara at night. It also involved a kind of eager childish delight in the sudden spring-time warmth, the breeze on the mountainside, the freedom of leaving the village. Since I love all wastes and solitary places, I am wandering about picking asparagus in the wide landscape, when I should be hoeing. There is snow in the wind, the wild pear trees are crowned with white flowers, the asphodels stand out like candelabra lit with stars, the bee orchid is underfoot, and rosemary is again covered with blue flowers. A food gatherer sees in a far field men and women laboriously planting out early tomatoes, the tomato race having already begun.” — Patience Gray